Free Love

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Free Love
Looking back at the historic images of the sixties – beads – sweet sweat – warfreedom, and free love.

Free Love

It was at the end of a decade – escaped high school and the world was a mess.

Bodies packed inside of planes, draped with the American Flag
Bodies were covered with beads, sweat, and the smell of grass.

You and I were different, Sunday rides on dirt roads, investigating dark forbidden caverns, and touching cold stone –miles below the surface of our earth.

Pretending not to love –you, I was unsure of love – or you?
Your thoughts squeezed the life from me, as tears fell – you reached out, but never understood.

On the knoll, near a carven – yet I found my own to conceal myself in stone, as your lips were branches of a tree, your finger’s pebbles, and my leg’s carried me away, as I ran from you – you see, you could not handle fear.

Did I, once love you?  Thinking to the days of beads and smoke, in that old red car . . . recalling the stars on the American Flag hanging from your rearview window.  America, it wasn’t free – nor was love, kissing branches of a tree.

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Angie's Diary